As I sat in the church, looking down at my hands as though they held the answers to the questions of the universe, I swore I could still see Sophie’s blood coating them. Soft smudges of red seemed to stain my skin, and no matter how hard I scrubbed at them, it simply wouldn’t disappear.

It wasn’t just on me, though.

I’d had to burn my clothes and the bed sheets.

The carpet of Sophie’s bedroom had already been torn up and replaced.

Just like that, it was like it had never happened.

Disguising it with things that were fresh and new, clean, un-fucking-tainted with the remnants of her life. For me, it was the sound of her voice that haunted me. She’d sounded so broken, nothing like the sister I remembered who was independent and strong. The sister who took no shit and held her head high despite how people viewed or treated her.

The sister who was my hero.

“Emmy, run!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain of what seemed like a knife being stabbed through my chest and twisted.

Was it selfish to think now that maybe I should have run?

What if I could have gotten help?

What if I could have drawn them away, so they forgot about Sophie?

What if I’d escaped?

Of course, it was fucking selfish. Had I run, Sophie would have suffered alone. She would have slowly bled out, with no one to hold her hand, nothing to look at but the faces of those bastards who had stolen her life away, and ripped every ounce of her dignity and respect to shreds on those sheets.

Guilt pulled me down, sitting itself on my chest and pressing me into the floor. The weight was so real that I was struggling to breathe.

And for a brief moment… I wondered if I even wanted to.

Would it matter if I took another breath?

“It’s worked out even better than I first planned. They will be so torn apart, so upset, so devastated, that I’ve not only done this to Sophie but have absolutely destroyed you, too.”

My lungs sucked in a long deep trail of air, filling themselves to the brim, relishing in the way the oxygen fed my body. He wanted to bring me down, he wanted to destroy me. I could already feel myself being torn to shreds. Devastation and questions about where to go next pulled me in all different directions.

But I refused to go willingly.

I refused to fall to pieces, not just yet.

Even if the pain of living seemed a lot worse than the relief death would offer me right now.

A desperate hand clutching at my arm brought me back to the present. My mother held onto me so tightly that her nails pinched at my skin. My father sat on the other side of her, his hand absently running up and down her arm, a soothing gesture that seemed almost robotic as he stared straight ahead.

My parents’ faces were that of total grief, a loss so life-shattering that it was hard to even think about ever recovering from it. Tears stained their cheeks, and my mother’s sobs could be heard well over the priest as he rattled on about my sister’s life and the impact that she’d had on the world. Through my daze, I watched as people got up to speak, one after another, describing Sophie’s bright outlook on life and her amazing potential.

All I wanted to do was stand up and scream at them.

They didn’t know her.

Not like I did.

She was more than a few sweet words of praise and admiration from people who’d known her for a few years or months even. She was more than a tear shed by a Hollywood socialite who spread rumors about her behind her back. She was more than anything these fucking people had to say about her. Sophie was my hero, my other half, the person who knew me better than I could ever know myself.

She wasn’t important because the spotlight shone on her. To me, Sophie was the spotlight.

They didn’t know her!

Every single one of these people would walk out of here, move on, go back to their own little worlds and forget about Sophie.

But I wouldn’t. I would never forget about her. The images of her death still haunted me day and night. Dark bags were forming under my eyes, my lips chapped, and my skin raw from the amount of tears I’d shed over the last four days. I hadn’t eaten, I had barely even been able to drag myself out of bed for this fucking stupid funeral. My parents demanded that they didn’t want to wait too long, they wanted to mourn the loss of their perfect daughter. I bet so that they could prepare themselves for the reality of what was left now, me—the disappointment.

It should have been me.

My mother pulled at my arm as people began to shuffle around me. “Emerson,” she whispered. “It’s time to go to the cemetery.”

I let her pull me to my feet, my body numb and undernourished. A wave of dizziness rushed over me, and I clutched to her arm. Mom held me up, looking down and offering me a supportive smile that seemed dull, so forced, as tears streamed down her face.

We walked down the aisle behind the coffin, people nodded and threw us sympathetic glances as they watched us file out. Foul and angry words tickled at my tongue. I didn’t want their bullshit words or comforting stares.

I wanted my sister back.

My father crowded us as we stepped out, pulling us into his body as he directed us to the line of dark cars parked behind the hearse.

Cameras flashed, and people screamed questions at us from across the street where the police were holding back lines of paparazzi and mourning fans. Some people held posters with her face on them, crying as they chanted about how much she would be missed.

I shook my head, sliding into the car with my parents as we drove to the cemetery.

More words were said, people laid down flowers and whispered words of love as they lowered her into the ground.

It all passed in a blur of people and noise, almost like a dull fuzz in the background as I watched the world around me move while I stood frozen.

I couldn’t bear to be there anymore.

“I’m sorry, Sophie.”

The dark clouds were rolling in, people were scattering, saying their last goodbyes in a hurry, as though getting their designer clothing wet was an inconceivable sin.

“Come, Emerson,” my father ordered, as people began to walk away from the gravesite. I didn’t acknowledge him, continuing to stare at the headstone and the hole in the dirt that was meant to represent my sister and her life. It was nothing, it didn’t do her justice. She deserved more than this. She deserved retribution.

“Emerson, it’s time to go home.”

I spun around, my breathing harsh. “I’m going back to Florida this afternoon.”

I needed to escape this place, all these reminders, the posters, the media, the questions. I was on the brink of a breakdown, I could feel it gurgling away inside my stomach, burning like a fire. It was a feeling I wasn’t familiar with, fueled by haunting memories and self-loathing.

It should have been me.

I just wanted to leave.

His eyes narrowed into a punishing glare. “Your sister has just died, you need to spend time with your family.”

A dark laugh escaped my lips, one filled with disgust and anger. “Because that’s going to make it better? That’s going help me come to terms with this?”

My father’s eyes flicked from side to side, nervous that someone might hear us. When they came back to rest on me, there was a new fire, one that told me he wasn’t happy with my sudden defiance. “The image of this family is already being scrutinized. We need to pull together now.”

And there it was.

“I’m not concerned about our damn image,” I cried, drawing attention from the people around us. “Someone killed Sophie, Papa! They knew us. They knew our family, and they wanted to hurt us. Yet, all you care about is how we look.”

“Emerson!” he snapped. “Stop this nonsense. We’re all grieving.”

“You have no idea how I’m feeling or what I’m going through,” I stated firmly, holding my ground against him like I never had before. It was almost as though I could feel Sophie’s spirit inside me, forcing me to say the words that I’d longed to for so long. “I can’t be here, it hurts so bad. I need to leave. I need to get away from this place where everything reminds me of her.”

“No, you are not leaving.”

“Yes, she is.” The voice sent a shiver up my spine, and I froze, my breath stuck in my throat. “But she’s leaving with me.”

His body stepped up beside mine, I could feel his warmth, which seemed strange coming from a man who on the surface appeared to have nothing but ice running through his veins. I turned to stare at him, shocked that he was even there—the man whose face I’d seen in many of my dreams over the last two years. His jaw was covered in dark bristles, not enough to be considered a beard, but enough to give him a rugged edge that I knew from first meeting him that he really didn’t need.

Angelo wasn’t a bad boy.

He was the bad boy.

His hair was short on the sides but long on the top and brushed backward in a clean wave. With an immaculate suit and tie that looked like it was made specifically for his hulking form, and a dark glare that would make an NFL football team shit their pants.

All I could do was stand there and stare, my mouth hanging open in shock.

“Leave, Angelo,” my father snapped, spittle flying from his lips. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Anthony has sent me with orders to collect her until further notice,” Angelo told my father calmly, unfazed by my father’s returning glare.

“It’s because of Anthony that I am here! It’s because of him that I’m mourning the loss of a daughter,” my father screamed, loud enough to startle me and force me to step backward.

What was he talking about?

What did Uncle Anthony have to do with all of this?

“This is true,” Angelo offered, his tone unchanging. Calm and serious, a master of patience. “And I’m here to make sure that there’s no repeat of what’s happened. You want to protest about the safety of your daughter? Have it up with him. I don’t have the time.”

A rough hand grasped my arm, turning my body and ushering me in the opposite direction toward the parking lot. I didn’t fight or argue, autopilot settled in. I was confused and lost.

The rain had begun to pour down, soaking through my modest black dress and causing my hair to stick to my face.

Why was Angelo here?

And why was he talking about protection?

Our encounter before had been brief but intense, and I felt as though in those few minutes we’d met that I’d discovered a lot about this man. The way he spoke, the way he held his body with natural confidence without having to be cocky like most men. A dark air swirled around him, something that told me the life he’d led hadn’t been easy.

Having him here now, pulling me away from my father and ushering me toward a dark car like I was a member of the royal family, it was completely fucking nuts. But, on the other hand, there was something about Angelo’s presence in my life at that moment that made me feel…

Comfort?

Relief?

No. Absolution.

The devilish essence inside him that had once chilled me to the bone suddenly felt like it was warming me, wrapping the fires of hell around my body and whispering beautiful promises of revenge in my ear.

My father’s calls followed behind us, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Probably because he wasn’t speaking English.

No. He was yelling across the cemetery in Italian.

What the fuck was going on?

My anger was fading, every feeling that had passed through me over the past few days was settling in my gut—remorse, vengeance, devastation, exhaustion. They all hit me at once, and as Angelo herded me into the back of a dark SUV, I felt them all become one, and inside my chest I swore I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

A gut wrenching sob fell from my mouth, and I gasped for air. My hands shook, sending shock waves through my body, causing me to scream out in unrelenting pain.

Angelo slipped into the backseat beside me, turning his body to look at mine, but not once reaching out to comfort me as I broke to pieces and stared at him in desperation. I wanted to reach out for him, for him to tell me that everything would be all right. That I was going to get through this, that I just had to be strong.

These were the things I felt like normal people wanted to hear when they’d been struck with such devastation and heartbreak.

These were the words I thought would make me feel better.

But that’s not what he said, and I found it was the few words he did offer me, even though I didn’t quite understand what they meant in that moment, which seemed to soothe my soul and appease the demons that raged inside my mind and body.

“He will pay.”